Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?
by lily moonlight
Summary: An AU adventure set in the Old West, where New York's finest ride into the sunset, and Sheriff Taylor keeps order in a small town. Drama, humour and romance! Mac/Stella, DL, hints of F/A, Hawkes, Sid, Adam & a case. Complete, enjoy!
1. You're Looking At the Law

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.**

**Notes**** A new adventure! Just can't stop writing. The plan is… well, I don't entirely know yet, but the idea is each chapter from a different character's point of view, so everyone gets a turn, and anything could happen! I love Westerns, and I love CSI NY, so here's an AU set in the Wild West…**

**Thanks to: ImasupernaturalCSI for suggesting Danny's role; notesofwimsey for looking through the first chapter; Shining Zephyr and Blue Shadowdancer amongst others for discussions : ) Title comes from a song by Paula Cole, chapter title from Cowboy Dreams**

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? 

Chapter 1: You're Looking at the Law

Mac:

Never thought this'd be the place I'd spend my days. From the greatest city in the Midwest, to one of the smallest small towns in the far West. In a land of sunsets that can break your heart, and women that can do the same. Not exactly what I'd had planned as a young greenhorn fresh outta college, ending up as Sheriff of Hattanville. But life takes you unexpected journeys, so here I am, and here's where I mean to stay. In a town small enough for a man to know every other man's business, and where strangers ride in and usually ride right back out again. Even the railroad forgot about us until twenty years ago; after every other two cent town was connected. They joined us up in the end though, and if you ride those rails for long enough they'll take you all the way to the big city on the edge of the Atlantic.

So we got the railroad now, but it doesn't mean we're troubled by crowds of sagebrushers, and that suits us folks. I prefer to keep my town out of trouble, and too many people means too much trouble. Population sign says two hundred fifty at the last count, so overcrowding's never been a problem, 'cept maybe Friday nights in the Star Saloon, always a favourite of the _gentlemen_ of the town. Gentlemen being a loose term for some of the cowpokes that hang around off of the dude ranches. Get's a little rough in there sometimes when they got bills in their pockets; someone looks at someone else the wrong way, pistols are drawn, tables knocked over, and you got a brawl on your hands. Don and I take a stroll down there most nights, just to keep an eye out for the worst troublemakers. Not that Stella ever needs anyone to keep an eye on her, or the bar when she's there.

Miss Stella Bonasera, proprietor of the finest, and only, bar in town. Never met a woman like her, before or since. This sure isn't a town for women, not much of a place for displaying silk and poplin fashions, but she's made it her own. And face her up against even our most Wanted Dead or Alive, and I swear she'd send him running for the hills cryin' for his ma. Handles a pistol like a man, and she'll shoot you down with a word if she chooses. Quite a woman. If Don Flack weren't the Deputy he is, and it weren't sorta frowned on, I'd offer her the position, no question about it. He's a damn fine man though, Don. Honest through and through. His pa was Sheriff before me, and it's my hope that Flack jr. takes over when it's time to hang up my star.

Women though; there certainly aren't a whole lot of 'em in Hattanville. It's a town for men. And there aren't many who can survive living here any length of time, so they'll tell you over three too many sour mashes. Something about this place, something about the soil and the sand along Main Street and the pollen storms in July. It can get into men's hearts, dry 'em cruel and hard as nails. Leastways, that's how Stella put it to me one Friday a coupla' years back after the sawdust on the bar floor had soaked up more blood than usual. As I recall it, it was a Friday not long after the first evening Daniel Messer showed his face in Hattanville. Caused quite a stir that did, folks still talk about it on quiet afternoons out on their porches.

The town'd heard talk of him even before he rode in on the mangiest Appaloosa I'd ever laid eyes on this side of Idaho. Flack and I had known him before he came here. His not so pretty face had been in danger of decorating state posters only a few years earlier with a nice little bounty on his hide. Almost wanted for cattle rustling out back in Jackson Hole, got himself mixed up in an outfit doing over the ranches. But, gotta give the young man his due, he got himself fixed up straight and came over to the right side of the law after we had some conversation. I'd known his father and brother years back which carried no small weight.

Not everyone of course was happy to see him that day, tying up outside the only hotel in town, his reputation preceding him as it did. And trouble started the moment he pushed his way through the doors of the saloon. Don and I were in there already and I swear you coulda' heard a pin fall as he swaggered up to the bar, dropping a wink to Stella. Never a wise move.

"What's a beautiful lady like _you_ doin' in a two bit bar like this?" Was his opening line as he leaned up an elbow and removed his hat. Don and I held our breath.

Stella smiled the most dangerous smile I've ever seen, sorta' reminded me of a rattler about to strike, and leaned her own elbow on the bar, "Well, _sir_, it just so happens I _own_ this two bit bar, so if you wanna make yourself popular, I suggest you head right back outta those doors, and come back in when you're ready to apologise. Got it?"

Before Messer even had time to think about it, his hat was jammed right back on his head, and his boots were taking him back the way he'd come in. Don was about ready to bust with laughter, and I was hiding a smile. Stella, on the other hand, was blazing. Her eyes kinda' shoot sparks when she's real pissed off. Somewhere in the depths of the saloon a voice called out somethin' about no good soft city boys, and next thing we knew, Messer had his gun in his hand and was about to start his own shoot out.

"Say what? You wanna say that to my face, huh, _cowboy_, do ya?"

It all went quiet. Don and I had our hands on our own weapons as a chair fell back and the cowboy in question got to his feet; Huck Cassidy, one of the meanest men in town, and exactly the wrong kind to pick a fight with. Little did Messer know that of course, but he was about to.

Nobody breathed for all of five seconds. You could smell the tension in the bar even over the bourbon. Messer's hand twitched, Huck's finger curled. And then there was the click of a barrel and Stella had both of 'em in her sights.

"You two boys had better get your sorry asses outta my bar before I throw you out those doors myself. Move it!" No one moved. She gave them a second, and then with a flicker of her eyelashes, she pulled the trigger and Cassidy found himself with a nice, neat hole in his nice, new hat.

"Now, move out sweet and fast," She told them in a voice that made even the bottles above the bar tremble, "Or I put the next hole through your forehead." All of us knew that she spoke nothin' less than the truth. Both men moved, fast, and we re-holstered our guns as the doors swung to behind them.

"Nice shootin', Stell." Don raised his eyebrows, and drained his glass, "Remind me never to stand in front of _you_ and a Smith and Wesson."

She shrugged and put the pistol back into the folds of her skirt, "Had it comin', both of 'em. Gotta have some way of teaching these boys to mind their manners. That little bullet hole should go some way to cooling down his hot head. If I hadn't promised his wife I'd keep an eye on him, Cassidy'd never darken my doors again. Least in here I know what he's up to, and she gets a rest from his fists."

"Just be careful, Stella." I warned her, knowing even as I said it what her answer'd probably be, "He's not a man to have as your enemy."

"Mac, I appreciate your concern, however, I know enough to know that by the time morning comes, Huck Cassidy will have drunk enough to sink a ship, and he ain't gonna remember a thing about what just happened." She winked at me, and slid another tumbler along the bar in Flack's direction, "The other man, on the other hand, well, I got a feeling this won't be the last heap of trouble we see him in."

And that was before he'd even laid eyes on Lindsay Monroe. Daniel Messer and trouble. How right Stella's proved to be, something she never ceases to remind me of. However, as it's turned out, Danny's troubles are far from the only ones in this small town. Looks like today's gonna have its fair share of 'em too. It's only just noon and Hammerback's come into the office, tape measure in hand. Not that he needs one. I swear to God, the man measures you up with his eyes for one of his pine boxes every time you cross the street. Still, he's got a good heart inside that thin frame and it's nothin' less than our duty to hear him out.

"Taylor," He says, and I can see his eyes blink behind his spectacles, "I've come to you on a matter of some urgency. It seems we have a thief in town." Removing his spectacles, he stares limpidly at me, "Yes, a thief. And not your normal kind of theft either. Someone has stolen one of my customers from right out of his coffin."

The only sound is Don's jaw dropping open.

**What do you think? I'd love to know, so please review! More up soon. Lily x**


	2. Enigmatic Stranger

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.**

**Notes**** Wow, what can I say, just thank you SO MUCH for all the reviews I received for the first chapter! They were brilliant, thank you, I loved reading them! Thank you to Moska for information on the types of guns used : ) Assignments all handed in, so I can concentrate more on this now ; ) Enjoy the next instalment; Sid's turn…**

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? 

Chapter 2: Enigmatic Stranger

Sid:

Mr Donald Flack is a very tall man. I'd estimate he is at least 6 feet and 7 inches in height; it would certainly take a lot of pine to fit him up for the next world, probably around a small tree's worth. But there's plenty of life in the young gentleman yet. And he certainly is a gentleman; always helpful, and always ready with a brisk word to the young urchins that sometimes get a little rowdy around the funeral parlour. It's not respectful to the dead to have young 'uns rolling marbles around amongst the coffins. Yes, a fine upstanding young gentleman. As is Sheriff Taylor, fine and upstanding that is, not quite as young. I would estimate _his_ height at approximately 5 feet and 10 inches.

We certainly have a pair of men more than capable of upholding the law here in Hattanville. Not that we have too much trouble or law-breaking; it's a little town with a big name. The odd panhandler and carpet bagger ride in looking for a little mischief now and again. The sheriff and his deputy usually send them riding out again, and I've been known to do my bit before now. It's quite astonishing how a well-thrown chisel can bring a look of pain and terror to a man's face. They soon turn tail and run.

Trouble though. I certainly find myself with more than a little of it this morning. _Not _what I was expecting to see when I returned from my constitutional around the town square; one of my customers missing. That is not a good advertisement for a business built upon trust: S Hammerback and Son, established 1867, Trust Us To Keep You Buried. My father began the business way back in '67, and I of course took over when he departed, in a beautifully carved casket of his own design. Trust has always been my guiding motto. Customers need to trust that once they or a loved one have shuffled off this mortal coil, they will be safely buried with no chance of any mortal remains shuffling off by themselves.

The man in question was definitely dead. No question about it. The bullet hole between his eyes, the knife between his ribs and the axe between his shoulder blades did seem to suggest that with a good measure of certainty. There was no need to call in Doctor Hawkes to certify this time. On other occasions, yes, that has been necessary.

I do remember one instance of a young man who appeared to be dead, but no sooner had I knocked in the nails, then there he was, knocking on the lid. It gave me quite a turn I can tell you. He made a full recovery however, (turned out he had drunk several quarts of moonshine and was dead drunk), and seems fine and sober to this day. But I have noticed a certain reluctance to talk to me, and a certain shifty-eyed unsettlement in my presence. I believe several times he has crossed the street in rather a hurry to avoid talking to me.

Sheriff Taylor I believe also had a stern talking to for him, as did Miss Stella. Now there is a woman to admire, though I do worry sometimes whether it's right and proper for an unmarried lady to be running a liquor saloon with no gentleman to assist her. Although I do happen to know that Taylor spends many a night outside, just keeping an eye out. I don't know if Miss Stella is always aware of this. He's often to be seen out at night, walking round the town, keeping an eye open.

Taylor wears a lot of black clothing, so sometimes it is difficult to distinguish him from the night. Man never seems to sleep. And let it not be heard first from me, but that coupled with the wearing of black and the prowling about at night… Well, rumours start easily in a small town. I sometimes wonder if he needs a woman's touch. Taylor though is never a man to heed gossip or rumours. A fine upstanding man. And one that seems to be waiting for me to speak. Keeping the sheriff or his deputy waiting is not a matter to be entertained. I do seem to have given quite a shock to Mr Flack; his jaw is practically touching his chest.

"You still with us, Hammerback?" Taylor asks me, "Tell us exactly what happened."

Where to start? Let me see… "Well, sirs, the customer in question is, or rather was, a man of unknown identity, probably aged around 24 years, 6 feet in height. Died with his boots on up in the hills, a couple of fur trappers brought him down. Usual story, nothing to say who he was, pauper's burial. Poor man had no one who wanted to claim his worldly possessions…"

"So what happened to those possessions, and what were they?"

I wish Taylor wouldn't interrupt me. Impatience is _not_ a virtue, but forgivable in these circumstances, I have to concede.

"Not much. Really not much to show for a life. He had on him said boots, very nice, looked to be new in fact, buffalo hide. Which I did think odd in some ways, as the rest of his attire was barely hanging together by its threads."

"Go on."

Is that a vein I can see beginning to twitch in his forehead? I really should warn him about over arousal of the blood circulation. The good doctor will also be able to suggest some remedy I expect, I believe digitalis has some useful properties…

"Keep talkin' Hammerback." Mr Flack has finally recovered his voice, "We'd like to be hearing your story before the sun sets. Lunchtime is fast creepin' up on us, and I'll tell you now, nothin' or no one comes between me and the plate of food out back that has my name on it."

"I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your lunch, young sir. No indeed, other than his boots and clothes this man had very little else. Other than one or two wads of tobacco, a small heap of money tucked away in a hidden seam, a pocket knife and most interesting of all, a piece of paper with what looks to be instructions or directions on it, but I couldn't figure out what the head or tail they're supposed to be."

"And these would be where now?"

There looks to be a slight flush in Mr Flack's face.

"Well now, some of the money went towards my costs, and the rest I passed to dear Miss Monroe for her orphan's charity. The tobacco I kept myself, not to smoke, but merely out of curiosity, it had an unusual odour. The knife and paper are also still in my safe keeping. The knife I must tell you had an intriguing design carved into the handle, scrimshaw…" I receive blank looks, "You do know…?"

"Enlighten us, please." I choose to ignore the suggestion of sarcasm in Mr Flack's voice. It's an ugly habit in such a young fellow.

"Engraving into bone, it was a bone handled knife. A bone from what, I'm not entirely sure, but I would hazard a guess at a whale, that's what's usually used. Leading me to conclude that either this man had been a sailor himself, or had been given the knife by a sailor."

"Or he stole it. Interestin', Hammerback, but what happened to the body? When was the last time you saw it?"

"Customer, please, and the last time I saw _him_ was…" I take out my pocket watch. It is now almost half past twelve, "Approximately two hours and twenty five minutes ago. Mr Ross had not long passed my window on his way to the hardware store. He makes his prescription deliveries every day at ten am, never fails. I saw him, and then I went downstairs into the workshop where my customer was at rest. Then I went for my walk. When I returned, the man was gone. The door appeared to have been forced open, but nothing else has been taken as far as I can tell. I came straight over to you upon the discovery."

I put my spectacles back on. Taylor is regarding me with a grim look in his eyes. It has been said to me that at times they are the colour of thunderclouds, and I must say I can see the resemblance now.

"Anythin' else you recall, Hammerback?" He asks me, and I can see now that the look in his eyes is one I've seen before; he has the scent of the chase in his nostrils. I last saw it when he was asked by young Mr Ross at the drugstore to locate some arsenic that had been stolen. It didn't take him long to track it down, and prevent the untimely death of dear old Mrs Prosser at the hands of her not so devoted son. Once Taylor picks up a scent there's no stopping him. Like a bloodhound in a black shirt and stetson. Quite ruthless.

But they're waiting for me to answer, "Nothing more at present. Perhaps it would be of benefit for you to stroll on over to my establishment and see for yourselves, gentlemen? And at the same time, my dear Martha and the girls will be more than happy to put some coffee on for you, there may also be some cake in the store cupboard…"

"Lead us over." Mr Flack replies, and is leading the way out of the door.

As I expect, Martha is delighted to see our little party, and serves us handsomely with fresh brewed coffee and slabs of her home made lemon and seed cake. Mr Flack is persuaded to have four slices. And then we examine the scene of the crime.

"Tell me Hammerback, where was Martha when all this happened?"

"She was out back I expect." I reply, a little ruffled, I do hope that neither Taylor or Mr Flack are implying my dear wife is any way responsible for this mishap, "I hope you're not…"

But before I have a chance to say any more, a dreadful shriek sounds from outside, and we rush to see what has happened. To all of our horror, the sight of Miss Lindsay Monroe almost fainted away into the arms of Mr Daniel Messer greets us. The reason for this would appear to be a very dead gentleman, face down in the horse trough by the hardware store.

**Hope you enjoyed this one! I am away for the weekend, so I apologise in advance if you review and do not receive a reply straight away. But please do review, and I will answer as soon as I can! Thank you, Lily x**


	3. Cowboy Dreams

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.**

**Notes**** Thank you so VERY much for all the reviews, I've been thrilled to receive them! Do please continue! I'm really enjoying writing this, and it's brilliant that you're enjoying reading it, thank you for letting me know. This is Lindsay's chapter, and I've not written much for her before, so any thoughts on how it seems, good or bad, are very welcome. Sorry this is a bit late too. Hope you enjoy!**

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? 

Chapter 3: Cowboy Dreams

Lindsay:

Someone's calling my name, and tapping me, very gently, on the cheek. I recognise that voice, I'd know it anywhere, especially when it's spoken so close to my ear. So close I can feel his breath on my eyelids, and feel those rough-hewn fingers on my skin… Maybe I'd better open my eyes. It _is_ him. Danny. _My_ Danny.

I hear my voice as a sort of whisper, "What… what happened?"

Oh my. Danny, and a _whole_ lot of other people as well. Half the town it seems. Am I blushing? Dear lord, yes. Why do I appear to be in Danny's arms, in the middle of Main Street, surrounded by a group of town's folk, including Sheriff Taylor and Deputy Flack? Even Mr Hammerback is standing there. Yes, that is a _lot_ of people, all looking at me.

"Lindsay… er, Miss Monroe, you okay? Talk to me." I notice that Danny still has his arm around me, as he helps me to my feet. I am most certainly blushing now, but never the less, grateful for his strong arm around me. It's coming back to me now. The man, the water trough, a _dead_ man. I swallow hard, and manage to get a few more words out. Wish my legs wouldn't tremble so.

"I'm all right, really, er, Mr Messer, thank you." I find my voice again, even though it's a little high, and shaky, "Really, it was just a… a shock, seeing, him…"

It certainly was. A dead man in the water trough is not what you expect as you walk out of Mr Sinclair's Hardware Store, especially when not ten minutes before you had been thinking what a peaceful little town this is on a Saturday afternoon.

Danny and I had just left the store, after I'd purchased a few yards of satin and calico; the calico for a new dress for myself and the satin to make up a blouse and skirt for Stella. Why, I do envy sometimes her fine clothes, and wish that I had a few dollars more for finery myself. She pays me more than generously though, and I'm happy to do the work and see how pleased she always is with the results. She's a fine lady, and even though I don't think my dear pa and ma would approve of what she does to earn her living, I have a great admiration for her. She admires my skills too, and is my best customer in town. A schoolteacher's wage doesn't stretch too far, and I'm trying to put by a store of money for a smallholding of my own one day. Maybe with a special someone of my own too. Ah, that would be a dream come true.

I do my dressmaking in the evenings, after the bell has rung for the end of school, and the children have run back home. I'm truly thankful to my pa for the Singer he gave me right before I left home. He and ma must've been saving their pennies and dimes a real long time, it's a beauty of a machine, the very latest from the Sears catalogue. It's a real treat running up clothes on it. Such beautiful clothes they are too for Stella. Not that I'm not content with my own print dresses. As now and again, I add a little ribbon and trick up a hat real nice with some decoration. No frippery though. It wouldn't suit the town's schoolteacher to be thought too fancy.

But I do have a secret wish, just one day, to walk down that Main Street dressed in the most wickedly and daringly fashioned dress that there ever was, and tip my bonnet at every one. What would folks think of their demure schoolteacher then? Sometimes I wonder if that part of me ever shows through my eyes, I sure hope not. I've only admitted that feeling since I came to live here, but maybe it's always been there. My pa tells me as a real little girl, I'd like dressin' up and puttin' on a dancing show for the neighbours. Perhaps one day I'll put a look of surprise on the faces of the good folks of Hattanville. In the nicest way of course.

My Danny (oh I love to think of him that way, _my_ Danny) always says though how he likes me just as I am, and he loves the woman I am underneath the dresses, whatever they might be made of. I chided him a little for that comment, thinking of even the possibility of underneath clothes; it isn't the right sort of thing for a lady to be told, and it would not do at all for any hint of impropriety to be attached to me. But I did feel a sorta' warm feeling when he said that to me; just fancy, a girl from Montana attracting the attention of a man from the big city. He's making a great fuss of me now, really, he's such a gentleman. A little rough round the edges maybe, but a true good man in his heart, hidden as it is deep under all that leather he wears and that attitude he sorta carries around with him. My pa would reckon he's hiding a vulnerable heart under all that tough skin, and I agree.

Sheriff Taylor's going to need to know what happened though, and it has been said that he's not a man you can hide the truth from.

"Miss Monroe, if you're feelin' up to it, perhaps you could tell my deputy and I what you and Mr Messer saw?"

Danny speaks up, "P'raps a nip of brandy might help you out first, Miss Monroe? Shock and all, ya know?"

Danny's such a considerate man. He was today when we chanced to meet in the store, I always do my shopping there of a Saturday afternoon. Holding the door open for me to step inside, takin' up my purchases, and offering to carry them over to the schoolhouse for me, even though it's only 'cross the street.

"Thank you Mr Messer, but really sir, I'm fine, and brandy don't entirely agree with me." I sure feel embarrassed now, it's not like me to take on so, but it was a real shock seeing the man lying there, so obviously… dead. Took a bit of a turn seeing him, and I feel sorta' angry with myself for swooning as I did. But I feel stronger now, "I 'preciate your offer, but I'm happy to tell Sheriff Taylor what happened, we can both do that." I turn to Sheriff Taylor who is waiting for me. He's a good man, cut from the same cloth as my pa, a true gentleman and always a good word for my work here. "Wish I could tell you more, sir, but I don't think I can. When I entered the store, reckon it must have been about twenty minutes ago, there was no one out on the street, least no one I saw anyway. Mr Messer and I met each other in the store, he was already in there. We made our purchases and came out. Soon as we walked down the steps, well, that's when we saw… him. Don't remember much else then, except things sorta spinning, and then going black. I may have screamed as well." I'm blushing again, but Sheriff Taylor nods kindly at me.

"Thank you, Miss Monroe, you've done a good job." Just like my pa was used to say after I'd finished my lessons for him.

The Sheriff stops in most days at the schoolhouse to raise his hat to all of us, and give me a smile as to the lessons I'm teaching them. Always supported the little bit of charity work I do too. I can't manage much, but I put a little of my wage by for the orphans, and the good folks of the town help out where they can too. Sheriff Taylor's always more than generous, as are Stella, Doctor Hawkes, Danny and Mr Hammerback. Now there's a good man too. He seems so awfully nice, and behind those spectacles are real kind eyes.

Sheriff Taylor has made a note of all I've said, and I see now he's turned his eyes to Danny. Who looks more than a little bothered by that. Seems like he has a bit of a hard time with Sheriff Taylor. I think it began when he first came here; as I've heard he didn't hit it off too good with Stella, and as she seems an important person to the Sheriff, I guess Danny worries himself now whenever he encounters him.

"You any more to add, Mr Messer?"

Danny squeezes my hand behind my back, I don't think anyone else notices, "Only to back up good and solid what Lindsay… Miss Monroe has told you right there, Sheriff. She's a darn fine one for remembering a thing. Happened exactly as she said. I'd called over to the store to collect a few wraps of tobacco, and was mighty pleased to meet Miss Monroe in there when she called in. I had her parcels ready to take over to the schoolhouse, we walked out together, and encountered the man in there." He jerks his head towards the water trough. I sure hope they aren't going to leave the poor man in there, but I think Mr Hammerback has something to say about that.

"Excuse me please, Taylor, Mr Messer, Miss Monroe," He tilts his head to me, "But do you think I could examine the unfortunate gentleman? I'd like to confirm that he is _not_ my missing customer."

A missing customer? Surely Mr Hammerback can't mean… Oh dear, I feel a little light headed again. I'm thankful Danny still has his arm around me. Maybe a drop of brandy _would_ be a help to me.

Just as I think that, I see Stella has heard the commotion and is hurrying over towards our little group, something in her hand.

"What's the meeting, Mac?" It always makes me blush to hear her address our Sheriff so informally, I confess. She's one of very few who calls him that, she and Mr Flack I believe are the only folks who do, "Everything all right? Oh! I see not. Who's the deceased?"

She's standing there looking real interested, and I tell her with hardly a tremor now in my voice, "We don't know, yet. Danny… Mr Messer, and I found him right there only fifteen minutes or so ago. Gave me a bit of a turn."

"Both of us." Danny says stoutly, and squeezes my hand again.

Stella turns a piercing look on Danny, and he kinda' shrinks back a little. "Well, guess I can understand that." She says, and turns to me with a smile, "You okay there Lindsay? Anything I can get you? You look a little shaken up, maybe you need a drop of something from outta my stronger stuff?" I could swear she winks at me as she pulls out from behind her back a bottle of something that almost knocks me over when she opens the top.

"Is that… alcohol?" I've never smelled anything as strong as that since tipping over a bottle of stuff my pa once tried brewing out in the barn. The floorboards were never the same.

Stella definitely winks at me, "Sure is. As good as it gets too, drop of this and you'll be ready to fight the Sioux. Here." Before I know it, I've swallowed a mouthful, and it feels like the fires of Hell itself have burned through my insides. But it's a surprisingly _good_ feeling.

I catch her eye, "Thank you, that was… er, that was quite a drink…"

"Bet you feel a whole lot better for it, huh?" Stella nods at me, and grins, "Gotta have a little something after a shock, wouldn't you agree Mr Messer?" She whips round to Danny, who I suddenly find pressed against me.

"Sure, ah, sure, couldn't agree more with ya, Miss Stella. Er, any chance…?"

"Ladies only, and last time I looked, that was the last thing you were. Still not even certain of your status as a gentleman, but you're gettin' there. Mac, anything I can do for you?"

"Not at present, Stella. Miss Monroe, and Mr Messer have both been more than helpful, and I believe Mr Hammerback might have somethin' more to tell us?"

Mr Hammerback stands up with a creak, and removes his spectacles, "I do indeed Taylor. This is _not_ my missing customer. This man I have never seen before in my life."

He turns the man over so we can see his face. I can only agree with him. A complete stranger to the town.

Mr Flack looks grim faced, "Then who the hell, if you'll pardon my language ladies, _is_ this then? Two mysteries in a day, what's happenin' to the town? One body disappearin, another appearin. Can't say as I'm happy about this. What do you say, Mac? _Mac_?"

Sheriff Taylor though is looking off into the distance, we follow his gaze, and see a small cloud of dust on the horizon, movin' unmistakably towards the town from across the plain. Somebody's riding into town in a hurry, and it ain't even market day. Seems like suddenly every hand but mine has a gun in it. We stand and wait as the hoof beats come closer and closer.

**Hope you enjoyed that! Please review and let me know. Back online and will reply as soon as I can. I love to hear from you! Lily x**


	4. You're Looking at Your Shane

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.**

**Notes**** Thank you very much indeed for all the reviews, I've been so happy to receive them all! Do please continue! It's brilliant that you're enjoying reading it, and thank you for letting me know. **

**This is Don Flack's chapter. With a guest character appearance at Shining Zephyr's request : ) Enjoy!**

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? 

Chapter 4: You're looking at your Shane

Flack:

It ain't no stranger ridin' towards us, and I know for damn sure Mac ain't gonna be happy about this. Aw, crap. I'd recognise those hoof beats and that fly blown cloud of dust anywhere. Look who's gallopin' into town. Last thing we need on a day like today; Stan Gerrard sneakin' up on us, no doubt to ride our asses over some nit-pickin' matter. Man sure as hell seems to have it in for us. Can't truly say I know why. Mac rarely talks on the matter, except to cuss politely 'bout the man. Never in front of him though, saves it till he's cantered back across the plains. There's some history there, but it ain't my business to pry into his affairs. Strikes me as strange also why Gerrard rides in when there's a perfectly good railroad. P'raps he likes the effect it has on us, tryin' to impress us humble town folk with his tarnished silver spurs and stetson. Or else there's something about riding hard over rough ground that appeals to him. Best not to think too much about _that_.

Yeah, it's him, and Mac's lookin' _mighty_ pissed off. No one's dropped their guns I see, certainly not me. I'm keepin' a hold of mine till I know what he's after. Jeez, even Hammerback's pulled out an antique Remington. Where the hell he resurrected that from I'd like to know. Man's full of surprises, as well as disturbing stories. Kind that can make you wish you hadn't eaten a full breakfast of grits, eggs, bacon, beans and everything else when he tells you in unnecessary detail about some poor 'customer' left lyin' around too long in the sun.

Messer, I note, seems to have acquired himself a shotgun, no doubt Mac'll be keepin' a close eye on what he does with it. I suspect too he's also keepin' a close eye on what he does with Miss Monroe. Not that she seems too much of the type to need an eye on, a looking out for eye anyhow, that's all I mean. Yep, Danny's found himself a fine young woman there, only hope he don't go breaking her heart. And I'm hopin' there's another fine young woman in town who might cast her eye my way one of these days.

Miss Monroe seems to be the only one who don't have a gun to call her own. Maybe Stella could sort something out for her, sure she has a few to spare. Woman seems to have 'em lyin' around all over the place, and all over her person. She ain't someone to mess with, as Danny and many others have found to their cost. Maybe Mac'll lock Gerrard into a room with _her; _now there's a suggestion… I know who my money'd be on walkin' out of there whole and smiling. Sure as hell wouldn't be the man wearing a grimy stetson and chaps that look like they've been dragged along behind a wagon train for a week, who's now clatterin' along Main Street. Never trust a man who don't take a bit of pride in his appearance.

Here he comes now, and even his horse don't fit him properly. Heck, he ain't even wearing his _tie _in the right and proper style. I wouldn't step foot outside the front porch without mine fastened up. Young Ross tried to get me into wearin' a new-fangled so-called bolo tie last week; said it was the latest fashion outta Mexico. Don't hold with all that sort of thing though. I'm stickin' with what I know and trust. I sure don't trust Gerrard, but guess I'd better lower my rifle case it _accidentally_ gets fired. Mac's lowered his I see, and given the signal for the rest of us to do so. Reluctantly.

"Stan." He drawls, "What can we be doin' for you today? Is there a problem? Only it don't seem that long since we last saw you."

He's got that right, "Last week wasn't it, Mac?" I decide to chip in, "Remember it, 'cause it was when Mrs Kennedy's little Jimmy decided to throw…"

"I recall well enough when it was thank you, Donald, and what happened." Gerrard growls, takin' advantage of my Christian name, "Nothing wrong with my memory. Yours and Taylor's on the other hand, we may have something of a problem with."

"Is that so?" Mac's got a perilous edge to his voice, and everyone seems to be sorta' paused, waiting. I'm right beside him, and it's kinda' comforting to have the feel of my rifle butt in my hand. Just in case.

"Yeah, it's so. Seems as if someone ain't fine and dandy with what's been happening in this here town of yours." He smiles a real nasty smile, and spits out a stream of tobacco, which lands just in front of my feet. Disgustin' habit. I stare him right in the eyes; as I expect, he looks away.

"You got a problem with us?" I challenge him, takin' a step closer, kicking the dirt as I do, "If ya do, we'd love to hear it, only as you might have noticed, _we_ got a problem here that needs fixin' first before any problem _you_ have."

Everyone draws aside to reveal the dead man sprawled at Hammerback's feet in the dirt. We all can't help noticin' now the knife sticking out of his chest. Poor Miss Monroe looks a little green at this point, and I catch Stella's eye.

She tucks her hand through Miss Monroe's arm, "Lindsay, if you don't mind, I could sure use a hand over at my place laying out some fabrics I had in mind for a couple of dresses. Perhaps you could look your eye over them and give me your honest thoughts? Knowin' how good you are with that sort of thing, reckon I could use your expertise. What do you say?"

"Why, I'd love to Stella. That would be real nice, thank you."

I'm happy to see her smile gratefully, and the two ladies then walk back over to the saloon. It don't escape my notice that Danny watches them go the whole way across the street, and that Stella glances back more than once at us. Even from that distance I can see the glint like a cut throat razor in her eye, meant for Gerrard. He's crossed her patience on more than one occasion, the last time being as I recollect when he called her, 'Little Missy'. Never seen such an interestin' and _imaginative_ use made of a soda siphon. Mac and I still smile at the memory.

Gerrard seems pleased to see her departure, "Not a suitable choice of living for a woman." He mutters, "Ain't right, and it sure ain't ladylike."

You can almost feel the ice form in the air, particularly around Mac. His knuckles tighten around his rifle.

"Miss Bonasera is nothin' less than a lady, and I'll thank you to remember that, _Stan_." He tells him, voice like a knife.

Gerrard has the downright, barefaced audacity to sneer, "Sure, Taylor, whatever you say. Now, we're wasting my valuable time here. You and I need to exchange a few words. Get yourself over to your office, and I can tell you what your problems are. Donald, seems like _your_ time'd be better spent right where you are, cleaning up the street of whoever this unfortunate cowpoke was. A deputy's job ain't all glamour y'know. No doubt your papa could have told you that."

One more millimetre and he's crossed my line, "No doubt but he did, _Mr_ Gerrard. There ain't any fancy dreams I have about this job and this here town. I do my duty, whatever it may be." There's no more to be said to him, so I turn my back, and draw in one hell of a deep breath.

Mac claps a hand on my shoulder, "Don, we'll talk later. Soon as Stan and I have had our discussion. You'll be the first to know. And I'd appreciate you fillin' me in soon as you get any more information about this gentleman."

"You got my word, Mac." I appreciate the gesture. Likely Mac's the only one who could handle Gerrard right now. Honestly, I don't trust my temper at this point. They walk back over to the office, Gerrard trailing a way behind, Mac leading the way. Now there's a man with a _real_ stride of authority.

"Mr Flack," Hammerback speaks up, "What would you suggest we do with this gentleman? I don't think we can leave him just lying around in the street, it's really most disrespectful. Not to mention quite unhygienic this time of year. Human flesh, when it starts to decompose…"

It's a warm June day, and I'm shudderin' already, "Just take him into your establishment, if you please, Hammerback. Doctor Hawkes might be the man to assist us at this point. Messer, make yourself good and useful, fetch the doc over."

Danny grins, he don't take offence too easily, "Sure, Flack. Anythin' to save your legs, huh? Gettin' too old for errand running are ya? No matter, it ain't a problem for my young legs." He shoots off, but not before I get my own comment off.

"Longer legs, younger brain, better looks. Remember that and you'll go far." I pretend I ain't seen the finger he flicks at me.

Give him his dues though, he's back in not many minutes, Sheldon Hawkes comin' up close behind him. Hawkes, now there's a man to admire. Been set up here in Hattanville many years, seen a whole host of patients, not all of 'em as respectful as they should be. But he never passes judgement or prejudices himself, no sir. Just gets on with his duty, and I happen to know he refuses to take a nickel from any of the poorer folk of the town, and it ain't gonna be me who says a word against that.

"Afternoon to you, Flack, I hear you have someone you'd like me to take a look at?" He's already crouching down beside the deceased, poking about at him. Hammerback's looking on with interest. I'm happy _not_ to look too closely.

"Dead man in a trough. Miss Monroe and Danny came across him not half an hour ago, Doc. Appears someone stuck a knife into him and took him outta this world."

"And I do wonder which world was waiting for him." Hammerback looks kinda pensive. What places he goes to when he gets that sorta' faraway look in his eyes, I don't even wanna think about.

"Well, whichever it was, ain't our problem. Right now, we need to figure out who sent him there and why. Somethin' you two gentlemen I'm hoping are gonna be able to help with. Your thoughts, Doc?"

He gives me a frown, "You know, Flack, I'm not so sure this is as straightforward as it seems."

Great, just great. Dead man in a water trough, with a knife sticking outta him. Seemed pretty straightforward to me. And I gotta be the one who tells Mac if it ain't.

"Hit me with it, Hawkes, won't pretend to you that I'm gonna like what you might have to say."

"I'm almost certain that he was dead _before_ he was stabbed. See?" I don't see. He points to the knife and the hole, and I begin to regret the four slices of Mrs Hammerback's cake I consumed earlier.

"What makes you say that?" Hopefully nobody's noticed the faintest hint of a tremor in my voice.

"There isn't a whole lot of blood here. Another thing, there's a strange smell on the body." Oh, jeez, that really makes my stomach heave, Hawkes leans in and almost presses his nose into the corpse. "You smell that, Hammerback? Sort of a sweet, almond smell?"

And Hammerback leans in for a sniff too. Dear god. I knew I shoulda' stopped after two slices. What is it with dead bodies and these two? Aw, hell. Now even Messer's lookin' curious.

"Yeah, I smell it too. Reminds me of somethin'. You wanna take a sniff, Flack?"

"_No! _The hell I do! You three have sniffed more than enough. You figure it out, then tell me."

"I think, and I may need to confirm this with Ross, that potassium cyanide has been used here, Flack. That's what the almond smell is." Hawkes finally leaves the body alone and stands up, "If I can have your permission to do so, I'd like to take a closer look."

Hammerback is nodding, far too enthusiastically for my liking, "Yes, yes, I think you're quite right, Doctor Hawkes. And something else has struck me now. I knew I'd smelled something like that only very recently. You recall, Mr Flack, the tobacco I kept from our missing gentleman? _That_ was the unusual odour on it, potassium cyanide, a bitter almond smell." He suddenly turns even paler than usual, "What a terrible mishap that would have been had I decided to smoke it. Not that I am a smoker, but I might have been. Or I might have passed it to someone who was. Oh dear me, how would that have seemed? The town undertaker trying to increase his business by nefarious means. A dreadful tragedy has been averted here."

"I'm delighted, however, we still have a problem here, one man dead, one dead man missing." It's time to get decisive, "Doc, get a hold of Ross, then however many of you it takes, investigate the body, and the tobacco, and find out what you can. I'll be there to assist, from a distance. You all with me on this?"

Everyone nods, and we head over, body included, to Hammerback's establishment. Damn. This is one of the longest days of my life. And I ain't even had lunch yet.

**Hope you enjoyed this one! Flack is the only character I've written as before. Please review, I'd love to know what you thought. Thank you, Lily x**


	5. Whenever You're In Trouble

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.**

**Notes**** Thank you very much indeed for all the reviews, I love to receive them. Please continue! It's brilliant that you're enjoying reading this, and thanks to all who've let me know. Thanks to Canadian Cowgirl and Fatkat for the unlogged reviews, sorry I couldn't reply personally.**

**THANK YOU to everyone who nominated and voted for me in the fan fic awards, I won stuff! Wow! Thanks, I was so happy to win best Mac and Stella author, and that Falling Leaves came 2nd in two categories :D**

**Thanks to Marialisa for her thoughts. This is Hawkes's chapter. Enjoy!**

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? 

Chapter 5: Whenever You're In Trouble

Hawkes:

An interesting place, Mr Hammerback's establishment, one I'm familiar with. _Too_ familiar with it seems at times. I do what I can, but out here, caught between plains of sagebrush on one side, and mountains that almost graze the heavens on the other, life gets hard to hold onto. Getting the medicine the town needs sometimes sure isn't easy. Supplies don't come in as often as I like, and the nearest big town with anything even approaching an infirmary is more than a hundred miles away, and that's going by railroad. Which costs money that folk round here mostly just don't have. It's a cold day when we lose one of ourselves. Any young 'un especially, anyone who didn't have nearly enough time to realise all that life can hold.

My life's here now, in this town, with whoever it is that might need me. Don't regret for a minute waving goodbye to the city. Even though it's been tough at times; folks didn't take all that easily to someone like myself, but I've gained their trust and acceptance, mostly anyhow. Still a few old timers who don't take to skin a few shades darker than their own. But Sheriff Taylor's been a good man especially. I suspect he's had more than a few words for some of the harder to please folks, and not long after I'd settled myself here, the few outbreaks of muttering there'd been along Main Street, stopped when he passed by. A good man. One to whom the town owes more than it realises.

_Not_ so keen on visiting me himself though, it's gotta be said. Remember the time well that Stella all but dragged him, whilst he protested up a storm, down the street to me after he'd gotten himself a bullet in the arm. There'd been some kind of a brawl outside the saloon one night; he'd stepped in to intervene, and ended up caught in the crossfire. Stella, I recall, was furious, and I'm not certain with who she was the most - Taylor for puttin' himself in harm's way, or the cowboy who pulled the trigger - both of 'em felt the force of her wrath. Cowboy still walks with a limp to this day. She succeeded anyhow in getting him to me, and I was able to patch him up without too much trouble. Taylor was a lucky man that time, a few centimetres to the right, and it would have been a different place _he_ was headed.

Hammerback though. Interesting establishment, interesting man. Cares deeply for the dead, always sends them off with his thoughts even if no one else has bothered. Very intelligent man too, if a little eccentric. Flack doesn't always have a lot of patience for him however. They're the type to clash, I can see that. Flack's a _doing_ sort of man, Hammerback, on the other hand's more a _thinking_ sort of man. Thinks some mighty strange things though sometimes it has to be said. Provided me with some remarkable conversation starters over the years. Always a good way to open up with a patient; asking if they've heard the latest story from Mr Hammerback. There are some folks in town though who are a slight bit troubled by him. I have a few who've asked me to _personally_ make sure they are good and deceased before he hammers them down.

Still, onto matters important. A very definitely deceased man. Here comes Danny with young Ross now to assist us. Adam Ross, I believe to be one of the most pleasant young men you could hope to find in a town like this. Always reliable, if a little _over-zealous _at times, but that's to be forgiven. Kid's got a real joy for life, and that's something I tip my hat to him for. I know both Taylor and Flack think pretty highly of him, even if he doesn't realise it, and he's proved his worth in a few matters of difficulty for them. Looks like he could do the same now; I'm almost certain what we have is potassium cyanide poisoning, but it's always good to have a second opinion, don't believe in being too proud.

"Hey there, Doc, Mr Flack, Danny, Mr Hammerback? How y'all doin'?"

It's infectious, the bounce he has in his step. He's almost dancing on the spot in front of us. Just hope Flack don't shoot him down accidentally, he's got something of a quick-fire tongue at times, and Ross is kind of sensitive.

I manage to get in there first though, "All good thanks, Ross. Glad you could join us. Could do with some of _your_ knowledge here."

"Happy to help, Doc. Whatcha' got?"

Why is it the suit he wears always seems a size too large for him? I've a feelin' he'd rather be fitted out in some more casual wear, denim maybe. A suit don't necessarily suit him. But I have noticed recently he's taken to adding the same style of waistcoat to his ensemble that Taylor's often seen wearing. Kid's got a good character of a man to model himself on there. Part of me wonders if he'll continue at the drugstore for all of his time, or if he has ambitions higher than that. Seems happy enough there at the moment however, and I know Mr Novak and his daughter are mighty pleased with him and his work.

He's blossomed into a confident young man, _entirely_ different from the mouse that came creepin' into Hattanville a few years back. Came knocking at _my_ door, which happened to be the first he saw. Long past the stroke of midnight when I was knocked outta my bed. He'd spotted the lantern I keep burning on the porch, makes it easier for anyone taken ill over night to find me. Kid had walked all the way over from the next town, after departing the train a stop too soon, and being too scared to hop back onto the next one.

So there he was standing and kinda shuffling his feet when I pulled the door back, after barely hearing the knock. I remember exactly his words.

"Sorry… sorry, sir, but, do you, I mean, could you, if that is you don't mind, tell me if I'm in the right, er, town? That is, I'm a lookin' for Hattanville, and I ain't certain I've found it. Sorry for, uh, disturbin' you an' all…"

Kid was almost embarrassingly grateful when I asked him in and offered him up a blanket on the settle. Ended up staying a coupla' days whilst he found his feet in town. Now he boards with the Novaks and there's talk in town that he and Miss Novak might be walking out together. Seems like a happy match. One that's taken its course naturally, given him a lot more confidence. When he _first_ arrived, I recall, he could barely speak to Miss Monroe without his cheeks turning redder than the sunset. And as for talking to Stella, think he'd have found it easier to go climb to the top of Mount Moran in a January blizzard. Still blushes and stammers a touch when he speaks to her now. He's braver though; he's assisted Miss Monroe out with delivering parcels round town, and Stella he helps by carrying crates and bottles up from her cellars. All things he's insisted on doing, neither lady would take advantage of him.

Lookin' at him now, as he checks over the body, you'd never credit the change in him. I'm happy to be able to ask him.

"So, tell us, what do you think, Ross? Potassium Cyanide? Hammerback and I thought it might be, but wanted your confirmation."

He nods enthusiastically, "'Preciate you askin' Doc. I think you're right, you got the smell there, real distinctive, recognise that anywhere. It's one we keep under tight lock and key in the drugstore, usually only Mr Novak touches any of the poisons, but he's let me handle a few under his close eye. Want me to call him over and ask him too, to make real sure?"

"No, don't think we need do that, your answer's good enough." That sets off a real glow of pride in his face. "Perhaps you'd care to stay and watch whilst Hammerback and I take a closer look at the man? _You_ happy with that Flack?"

Flack shrugs, "Fine by me, you do what you feel. You, uh, wantin' me to be waitin' around here?"

He looks kind of pale, there's a greenish tinge round his cheeks, maybe something he ate disagreed with him. I'd offer him one of my remedies, but he's even more reluctant than Taylor to take anything with a hint of medicine about it, "You all right there, Flack? Looking a little seedy. No, you don't need to be waiting around. Anything I can do for _you_? ."

Some of the colour seems to return to him, "Nope. I'm dandy. Keep right on with what you're doin' and I'll stroll on down to Novak's place, ask him a little more about these poisons he keeps. Let me know when you're good and finished here."

"We'll be sure to."

He disappears with a great deal of haste, I could almost say in a cloud of dust, and we continue our examination. Danny's stayed along with us, so there are four of us in total, and the dead man, whose name we still don't know of course. Something that always bothers me. There've been a few over the years, poor souls who've come to us with not even so much as their name. We've buried them best we can, wooden cross up in the cemetery. The town keeps a small fund for burials such as that, folks put in a little when they can, same as Miss Monroe's orphan fund. Likely this'll be how this man ends up; no pallbearers, no mourners, back to the dust he came from.

First thing we do is take a good look at the knife he's got sticking out of his belly. As I thought, pushed in after death, and it would have taken considerable force to do so, unlikely to have been a woman's hand. I pull it out, and Hammerback seizes it straight away.

"The handle! Doctor, do you see what I see?"

"If you mean the carvings, then yes I do, not something you see often out here, bone carvings…"

"Quite so, exactly what I thought when I found the very same thing on a knife belonging to another dead man. One who has since disappeared."

Ross peers in for a closer look, and then turns to me with a look of high excitement in his eyes, "I've seen this too! Pardon me for interrupting you an' all, but… but I had a gentleman, well, I say gentleman, but really he weren't much of a gentleman round Miss Novak, he came into the store only yesterday afternoon. Bought some tooth cleaning powder, but spent a good long time makin' his mind up 'bout it. Mr Novak was gettin' impatient. Looked real… well, that is, I don't mean to be disrespectful…"

"Nothin' disrespectful about _you_." Danny saves him, "Me on the other hand, now I'm someone folks could, and do, call disrespectful at times, and I don't shoot 'em for it."

"Sounds like useful information to me, young fellow. Keep a hold of it, and we'll impart it to Taylor and Mr Flack." Hammerback adds, still brandishing the knife. Ross backs away a little, "I'll do that, sir."

I'm about to add my piece when we're all interrupted by the door swinging open. Flack's back in a mighty hurry, and he's not alone. Taylor, and Stan Gerrard are in front of him, and I can't tell who has the darkest look on their face.

It's Gerrard who gets his mouth open first, and soon as the words are out, I'm wishing it hadn't been, "Adam Ross?" He barely waits for the kid to open his mouth, before his grey bristles start shaking more than a porcupine shooting quills, "_You_ boy, are in possibly the most serious trouble of your young life."

Ross backs away even further, and bumps up against the table, the arm of the body falls over the edge, brushing against him and he leaps back. Gerrard smiles and there's a real evil glint to it, "Ever heard o' hanging, boy? 'Cause going on what we've just discovered, it's somethin' _you're_ going to be finding out about real soon. You're comin' right with us. The rest o' you, stir a step from in here, and I'll be making saddles from your hides."

Grabbing Ross by the arm, Gerrard marches him out, the click of his spurs on the floor sounding as loud as our heartbeats in the silence.

**Hope you enjoyed Hawkes. Sorry this is a bit late up. Next chapter soon! Please review. Thank you, Lily x**


	6. The Boy Who Stole Your Heart

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.**

**Notes**** Thank you very much indeed for all the reviews, I love to receive them. Please continue! I'm delighted you****'re enjoying reading this, and thanks to everyone who has let me know. Thanks to all who have made this, and me, a favourite or an alert, much appreciated :D**

**Many thanks to Blue Shadowdancer for reading and making suggestions.**

**This is Adam's chapter. Enjoy!**

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? 

Chapter 6: The Boy Who Stole Your Heart

Adam:

Hangin'? They're gonna _hang_ me? No! They can't do that… can they? What have I _done? _Surely it wasn't 'cause of the piece of wrapping that blew away from outta my pocket last week that I couldn't pick up, even though I tried and ran after it half way cross town? Or no, no, surely it ain't because I had thoughts about things that maybe I _oughtn't_ to have had thoughts about when seeing Miss Novak yesterday, and other days? Mr Gerrard couldn't have found out about that, and I don't think that's a _hangin'_ offence… Just don't know what's going on. Looked like the others didn't neither, never seen such a look of surprise on the doctor's face, or Danny Messer's; not even after I saw Miss Monroe put a kiss on his cheek as they left the store last Saturday afternoon, don't think either of 'em saw me.

Mr Gerrard don't even give me a chance to open my mouth, he's got me fast by the shoulder, and we're marching all the way across Main Street. And all the folks of the town are out, they can see me, they're all looking at me. Can't see their faces properly, it's all kinda' blurry. I hope to heaven Miss Novak don't see me like this, I'll never be able to look at her again, not ever. Mr Novak ain't never gonna want to see me again in the drugstore, if he sees me being taken across town by the sheriff and his posse. They can't hang me. They can't, surely they can't…

There's no escape. Mr Gerrard's gotten me fixed in his grip, don't know what I can do. What've I done? Must be somethin' bad, worse than playing a game o' dice in the back store cupboard with Danny Messer on Friday morning. No one's tellin' me though. They… they can't hang me, can they? No, no, they can't please, no. Not without proof or anythin'. Always gotta have proof, least that's what the Sheriff says. Remember him saying that to me when I found out about Mrs Prosser's son, said I'd found the proof he needed. They didn't hang her son though, locked him up a long time instead, 'cause of my proof.

What have I done that means they want to hang me? No way I've done anything like Rick Prosser was going to do with his arsenic. Why are Mr Flack and Sheriff Taylor lookin' so grim though? I must've done something real bad for them to look like that, _real_ bad. But hanging, no, Mr Gerrard can't mean that, it must be his idea of humour, perhaps someone's set me up for a joke, that's _gotta_ be it. Would they do that? Don't think Sheriff Taylor's much of a joking man. Mr Flack though, maybe, maybe it's him, maybe him and Danny Messer are playing a joke… but hangin' a man ain't much of a joke, and neither look like they're findin' this real funny. Nor am I. I've let someone down, I know I have. Somethin's happened, gone wrong, it'll be all my fault. I'm sorry, I'm real sorry…

"Get along with you boy, ain't got all day to be held up by a ground squirrel like you, move yourself. Sooner justice is served on you, and you feel hemp around your neck, the better."

Mr Gerrard's dragging me along, I'm stumblin', folks still staring, please don't look at me, please don't look…

"Sir… sir, if you'd only tell me…"

"I ain't tellin' you nothin' till I'm good and ready boy. Someone like you…"

"Justice, Stan, think that was the word you just used? Think you're being too hasty in judging Mr Ross here."

Sheriff Taylor's speakin' up for me, helps me stand up a little straighter, get my feet back together. Dirt's got kicked up onto my new trousers, Mr Novak's gonna be real unhappy about that. "We don't have all the facts yet, or evidence right in front of us. Never hang a man without evidence Stan, you oughtta know that. Hold your judgements till we know more."

What does the Sheriff mean? What facts, what evidence? Wish they'd talk to me, but they seem to have forgotten to do that.

We've reached the Sheriff's office, crowd's built up on Main Street, oh please, oh please, not Miss Kendall, please don't let her see me like this. She won't want to be keepin' the company of a man like me anymore, a no-good criminal, if that's what they think I am. Miss Stella too, what would _she_ think seeing me now? She'd be ashamed of me, that's what. Mr Gerrard pushes me right through the door, can't help myself falling onto the floor, gettin' more dirt on my trousers. Maybe I am a criminal, worse than an outlaw. I 'spect Sheriff Taylor and Mr Gerrard know a lot more than I do, but I sure wish they'd tell me what they know.

Mr Flack's pulled out a chair for me, pulled me up, sat me down, not too hard. Don't know what to make of the look in his eyes though. Somethin' there, looks kinda sorry for me, maybe, but angry too, ashamed. He's angry with me. I've let him and the Sheriff down, and guess that means I let everyone down. The Sheriff's watching me now, kinda stepped in front of Mr Gerrard, but _he's_ still there, glarin' hard at me, his face kinda trembling, and blotched, hands twitchin'. Not a kind face, not at all. Bet he's picturing my neck in a noose. I don't want to picture that. No. There's a look of death in his eyes. But no, no… _this_ _ain't right._

"Mr Taylor, please, if I done something, you gotta tell me sir. Only… only I don't know what it is I'm supposed to have done. Have I hurt someone? Oh please, say that ain't the case…"

"Quit your talkin' on, boy…" Mr Gerrard roars. Mr Flack steps right up to him, almost touching his boots. Boots that ain't clean, still got the dirt of the road on 'em. Mr Flack's a lot taller than him, and stands over him. There's a real cold look in his eyes, p'raps he ain't so mad at _me_.

"I'm gonna ask you this nicely, Mr Gerrard. This is our town and our citizens. Mr Ross here's one of 'em, an important one, and as such, deserves a bit of your respect, and perhaps I need to remind you here, we still ain't got no sure proof of anythin' he's done wrong yet. And _we_ got the right to question him as _we _see fit. Mac and I ain't gonna accept your threats and intimidating, so I suggest you back right down now."

"You _threatening _me, Donald? 'Cause if you are, you're threatening the wrong man, let me tell you."

"No one's threatening you, Stan. Not how we do things here. What we got to do is put all we have to Mr Ross, who'll then be able to help us with our enquiries. Far as I see it, we don't need no talk of hanging." Mr Taylor's looking right at me now, his forehead's creased up and his mouth's frowning, but it ain't the same look as Mr Gerrard has on his face. No talk of hanging. I knew Mr Taylor wouldn't be letting me down. "Mr Ross, what can you tell us about a quantity of poison goin' missing from the drugstore?"

For a moment I'm not sure what he's talkin' about, don't know what to say. I drop my eyes to the floor. There's a mouse peerin' out of it's hole at me, right behind the sheriff's desk, grey fur, boot button eyes. None of 'em have seen it. It's run back into its hole. Wish I could do the same.

"I… I don't know anything about that, Sir, didn't know we'd had any stolen, are, don't mean to be rude, but are… are you sure it really has?" Oh no, that was rude of me, shouldn't have said that, questioned the Sheriff…

"You daring to argue boy? Position you're in…"

"That's enough Stan. Mr Ross, continue."

"Only… only, it's me that keeps a real close eye on the poisons cupboard. Mr Novak has the key, but I check it's kept locked, every day. It ain't been unlocked to my knowledge since Tuesday last, just before 10 o'clock in the morning. Had a delivery of strychnine, just a few grains, to Mr Ironside for his - condition. Mr Novak locked it up after me, and I checked again when I returned at a quarter after ten. It was locked, I shook the door to make sure, like I always do."

"No one touched, or asked for anythin' else of late?"

"No, Mr Flack, no one has." His hand's kinda clenching and unclenching, his eyebrows are bushed up together, thinking I guess. My hands are clenching too, they're hot, slippery, can feel the sweat down my back as well, feels too hot in here.

"The problem's this, Mr Ross." Mr Taylor speaks after pulling up a chair himself, and sittin' opposite me. Mr Flack sits on the edge of the desk, Mr Gerrard stays standin' right where he is, fists held out in front of him. "Seems that a small quantity of potassium cyanide from the drugstore is unaccounted for. When Don went along to speak to Mr Novak, he went to check the poisons cupboard, found it unlocked, and a quantity missing. Enough, he reckons, to kill several men stone dead. We came to ask you if you could tell us any more on the matter, as the last time the cupboard was opened was for your delivery, and it seems that you're the only other person who'd have access. Have to tell you, Mr Ross, that Mr Novak was most hesitant to even think you'd have committed any misdemeanour, but we gotta ask some questions now, and you're most likely the one man who might be able to help us."

Don't quite know what to think about that. Mr Taylor don't sound any more like he wants to hang me, nor Mr Flack, not so sure about Mr Gerrard. But suddenly, something comes back into my mind, I'd most nearly forgotten about it after all this, think it could be important though.

"Don't… don't know if this is what you're lookin' for sirs, but, but, yesterday we had a man come into the store, and he weren't in truth a gentleman, real disrespectful to Miss Novak, and he carried a knife on his person, just outta sight tucked into his belt, and I tell you this 'cause it was the same kind of knife that Doctor Hawkes and Mr Hammerback found on the deceased gentleman, was telling them about it right before you, uh came in. He hung around the store for a while too long, and he was, I recall, askin' us what kind of poisons we kept."

"What did you tell him?"

"As little as I could, sir, told him we kept what was usual, and that we kept them locked away. Seemed kinda angry about that, then he pushed his way out."

There's silence for a few minutes, and everyone looks at everyone else. Not at me, though, I'm glad, gives me a moment to cool my face, feels like it's burnin' up.

"Thank you, Mr Ross, you've been real helpful, and I can say to you now, there'll be no more talk of hangin'. Far as I see it, you've done nothing wrong."

Mr Taylor stands and holds his hand out to me, like a gentleman. Have to wipe my palm on my trousers before I can take it. Daren't look at Mr Gerrard, don't want him changing his mind.

"What now, Mac?"

Mr Taylor nods at me before turning to his deputy, "Well Don, I'd say we still got ourselves a thief to find."

"Think this is Hammerback's thief too?"

"More than sure of it. I gotta feeling these events are connected, and we're on our way to finding out just where these connections lead. Mr Ross, Adam, I think you'd be real useful to us if you could take us on over to the drugstore and tell us if you see anything not the way it should be, we're looking for clues as to who this man is."

Helpful, that's better than hanging, a whole sight better.

"Happy to do that sir, more than happy. Come right on over."

We leave, and this time, it's me who's leading them across the street, and this time I can hold my head up high.

Walking past Mr Hammerback's establishment, we hear a shout from inside, and Danny Messer comes busting out the door. Gives me a quick grin and a punch on the arm as he faces up to Mr Taylor.

"Sheriff, Flack, Adam, got something real interestin' that I reckon you're gonna wanna hear about."

Mr Gerrard's got a bright red colour to his cheeks, and I can see him about to fire a sentence or two back out, but Mr Taylor beats him to it, holds a hand up to him, "I'm listening, Mr Messer."

"The knives, patterns carved into the handles you recall, well, we matched them up to the paper Mr Hammerback found on his missing customer. Designs go together, and we been considerin' that they show some kind of a map, pointin' to somewhere in this area. Reckon that's what someone's been after." He stops for a moment, kind of draws in a deep breath and gazes round at all of us, "Reckon we got ourselves a treasure map, reckon there could be gold in these here hills, Sheriff."

**I couldn't have let Adam be hanged! Hope you enjoyed this one, please review and let me know what you think. Next chapter up in a couple of days. Lily x**


	7. Remembered As An Outlaw

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.**

**Notes**** Thank you very much indeed for all the reviews, I love to receive them. Please continue! Thanks to everyone reading, everyone who has let me know, and to all who have made this and me a favourite or an alert, much appreciated :D**

**This is Danny's chapter. Thank you very much to Sally Jetson for reading some of this, and assuring me on Danny's voice. Enjoy!**

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? 

Chapter 7: Remembered As An Outlaw

Danny:

"Gold in the hills, Mr Messer? You're gonna have to show us a little more proof before we go heading out on some wild goose chase."

_Damn_. Knew as soon as the words were outta my mouth that Taylor was gonna have a hard time swallowin' them. _'Gold in these here hills.'_ Yeah, nice line, Messer. What was I _thinkin'? _Could be the truth though, gold turns up in the strangest places; who'd ever have predicted that I'd find my own here, or that she'd think the same about me? Boy from the city, girl from the country, guess I think sometimes she'd do better with a better man, but she's made her choice. That's how it goes. Never regret the day my old flea-bitten mount plodded into town. He mighta' done though; didn't last much longer after that, ride over the hills 'bout finished him off. Miss the old guy though, he'd taken me a lot of distance, never complained, apart from the odd kick in the butt he handed out to me if I filled his saddlebags too full.

Yeah, remember it well, that day I rode into town. Maybe I coulda' handled my entrance with a little more style. Sorta' launched myself in there with about as much grace as an elk in rutting season, and _didn't_ I know about it. Taught me a stiff lesson though, yes _sir_, don't ever say the wrong words to Miss Stella Bonasera. Guess I was lucky not to have gotten a bullet shot through me that night. _Think_ she's forgiven me now. It's taken a coupla' years, but reckon she's warming to me. Taylor's gotten a pinch more respect for me now too. Seems I did good for him and Flack the time I helped 'em round up a bunch of steers that had broke loose and were threatening to trample their way down Main Street. Helped rope 'em all good and tight, and lead them back up to Sinclair's corral. Felt kinda proud of myself that day, used the rope tricks my brother taught me way back, never thought I'd get to use 'em here. Sinclair was mighty pleased too. Man's got fingers in all sorts of pies -hardware, cattle, and a spot o' poker now and again in the back rooms. Not that Taylor knows about that, or if he does, he ain't sayin'. Better say a bit more to him myself, before he loses patience and disappears off to wherever he was headed. Good to see there don't seem to be no more talk o' hangin' Ross. Kid don't deserve that in a million years.

"I 'preciate you might need to have some kinda' proof, Sheriff, which is why I called out to you now. Like I said, the Doc, Hammerback and me have been doin a bit of careful study on these knives, and the scrap of paper. All evidence points to a map for treasure of some kind, up in the hills. I say we follow the map, _boom,_ we find the treasure."

"You're gonna use _explosives_?" Gerrard looks like _he's_ about to explode. Serve him right.

Explosives huh? Cool. "Could do. No reason why not. Happen to know Hammerback's got a store of TNT out back of his place…"

"Hammerback has _dynamite?_" Flack is not looking a well man. Been kinda' pale all day. Next thing he's gonna be telling me he ain't wanting the rib eye steak we got planned tonight. Even if it was served up to him by the angel in town he's got his baby blues on.

Taylor glares at me, "Why does _Hammerback_ have TNT?"

"You don't wanna know." Bet he does.

"No I don't, but I'm gonna find out."

Crap. Shoulda' kept my mouth shut. Now everyone's gonna be wanting a stick. Especially Miss Stella. That dame's got dynamite in her soul, and a spark in her eye. No wonder Taylor looks at her the way he does. My Lindsay, she's dynamite too, in a different way though, more of a slow-burning fuse to her, intense. Takes a lot to rise her temper, but light the gunpowder, and stand _way_ back. She'll blow you to pieces. Caught a glimpse of it the first time I laid eyes on her, and realised I couldn't take them off of her again. Now there's a woman to draw a poor, helpless city boy like me into trouble. There's a lot hidden away under all those petticoats. Not that she's let me see. Much.

Ahem, thinking on, she'd be mighty useful right about now, "Sheriff, maybe Linds… Miss Monroe might be able to offer us some assistance here. Happen to know she's real smart with words and such like. Not like myself. Reckon she'd be able to interpret this map more to your satisfaction."

Is that actually a twinkle from the steely-eyed Sheriff? Nah, Taylor don't twinkle. 'Cept maybe when a certain saloon owner breezes past his eyes.

"Maybe so, Mr Messer, maybe so. She might be just the person." That's another thing I ain't ever gotten used to: formality; Mr Messer, Daniel. Don't fit my style. Messer at a push, don't mind Flack or Doc Hawkes using that. But prefer Danny best of all. Like the way it sounds, especially from Lindsay's lips. It's my hope that I get to hear my name spoken aloud by her sometime in the not too distant future, in front of a chapel full of witnesses. Depends on her folks of course. Not quite sure what they'd make of me. I've no doubt, however, what _my_ folks'd make of her. Nothing less than astonishment that I'd found myself such a woman.

"So, Sheriff, you, uh, want me to swing on over to the saloon and fetch her from Miss Stella's clutch… er, safe hands?"

Gotta face my fears sometimes. Ross pipes up for the first time though, "Want me to go Danny, Sheriff, Mr Flack? I'd be happy to."

Kid's got style, and restless legs. Hopping about all over the place like a mountain goat. Nerves still shaken, I reckon. Damn that bastard Gerrard. Reckon I'd like to land a fist on him for scarin' the kid half to death. He don't deserve _nothin'_ like that. Can feel my fingers itchin' to…

"You do that, Mr Ross, and we'll postpone for the time being our original destination; these things seem to be linked up with each other. Be quick as you can, day's drawing on."

"Yes _sir_." He's half way 'cross the street before he's even finished the sentence. The rest of our little crowd mosey on over to Hammerback's. Least Gerrard's shut his trap for now, though there's a storm brewin' in his face. Someone's gonna be in for it real soon. Sure hope it ain't me.

"What've you got for us then, Hammerback?" Taylor examines the knife and the papers, "Seems Mr Messer's interpreted a treasure map?"

"He would seem to be right, Taylor." Nice to know Hammerback appreciates me, "See, here… and here. I believe these marks to be indications of a route up to the foothills of Mount Moran as you head across Snake river."

"That so? So what's a treasure map got to do with two dead men, one of 'em still missing and a quantity of stolen poison?"

The Doc clears his throat, "I actually have a theory on that, Sheriff, if you'd care to hear it?"

Hell, _I'd_ like to hear it. The Doc's a clever man, probably the smartest dude in town, which is why he's the Doc, and I'm plain Danny.

"The thing is, I think we're looking at things the wrong way round, if you'll pardon me saying so, Sheriff. I believe this all started with the knives. It's my belief we're looking for a gang of men, associates, probably all former sailors given the scrimshaw on the knife handles. Possibly they found something of value, and for whatever reason, buried it in this location, handing out the knives and papers with the instructions, split up between them, to ensure no one person could dig it up without the others."

I gotta ask a question here, "Why bury it though, whatever it is? That don't make sense to me."

"Because it was ill gotten gains, not found, I believe." Hammerback's peering over his spectacles at me, "No honour amongst thieves. You obviously wouldn't remember Mr Messer, but a few years before your arrival, the town suffered a bank robbery. A large quantity of bullion and other valuables were stolen during a hold-up. Armed outlaws got away with quite a haul, nearly everyone in the town lost out that day. I believe this could be the same gang. It was never found, gang disappeared up into the hills, despite Taylor and Mr Flack chasing them for some considerable time. Isn't that right, Taylor?"

Never seen Taylor lookin' so damned annoyed, with himself. Gerrard's lookin' smug. Man, I'd love to land my fist in him right about now.

"It is Hammerback. One of my greatest regrets. They got away from me."

Whew, that's gotta have hurt. Guess he feels he still owes the town for that. He don't owe it nothin' far as I see it. Ain't the kind of man to realise that though.

"So," It's about time I added my thoughts in, "We got a gang, buried ill gotten gains, and a map, split however many ways. And the possibility that whoever's left alive from this gang is lookin' for the treasure; may not to be too far away, and might've killed two people already."

"You got it about right, Mr Messer." Taylor sighs.

Nice, real nice. Excitin' though. Sure beats the usual Saturday afternoon in town when the most drama's Mrs Wildman losing her false teeth in the water fountain, again.

No one quite knows what to say for a moment, which is the point the door swings open and Lindsay, closely followed by Adam and Miss Stella, enters.

"Dan… er, Mr Messer, Sheriff, Mr Flack. Heard you all wanted a little help from me? Be glad to do what I can. You've got a treasure map I hear?"

Miss Stella's got a smile on her face like a mountain lion who's just found dinner, "Treasure huntin' then, hey? Well, I'm game for that. Got a coupla' pickaxes down in the cellars should we be needing them."

Cellars? _Pickaxes? _Don't want to think no further down that road. Even Taylor's raised his eyebrows. "What?" She protests, "Gotta be prepared for all scenarios. Ain't that right, Mr Messer?" Jeez, I wish she wouldn't do that. There's a part of me that'd rather face a _real_ mountain lion than head down into a dark cellar at her mercy.

"Need to find the location first, Stell. Then we can go dig it up, with whatever happens to be at hand. Dynamite or pickaxes." First sentence we've had outta Flack for a while. Man still looks sick. Guessing he ain't managed to have lunch yet.

Miss Stella looks kinda disappointed, and goes to look over the Sheriff's shoulder at what Lindsay's doing. She's biting her lip, concentratin'. Seen her do that when she's at her stichin'. Works real careful. Like how she looks when she does that. Real neat fingers she has too when she's workin', same as now, she's turning over the knives and papers as gentle as if they were eggshells. Everyone's kind of waiting for her, and I can see a bit of a blush in her cheeks as she straightens up.

"Well, I ain't _entirely_ certain all of you, but I'm certain enough. I think this is a treasure map, but it sure don't lead up to the hills." Miss Stella now looks disappointed for sure. Bet she had hopes of riding on up there and blowin' stuff up. Same as I had.

"Where _does_ it lead?" I gotta know, suspense is killing me. Lindsay looks around and gives me a smile, "Well, er, Mr Messer. Seems like it leads right over to the saloon."

That silences Miss Stella. Only for a moment though. She grabs a hold of Taylor's arm, "Mac! I got a whole network of tunnels and rooms under there! Some of 'em I ain't even been in for years. Could be anything down there." Her hand flies to her mouth, "Could have been stuff down there for years and I never knew. We gotta get over there!"

Before anyone can stop her, she's pulled Taylor along in her wake, and the rest of us ain't got no choice other than to follow. Lindsay's one of the first, seems like this has caught a hold of her imagination.

Miss Stella calls back over her shoulder, "Hammerback! Bring along some of that dynamite you got hiding out in your lean-to."

How the hell did _she_ know about that? She's across the street now, still holding onto Taylor. Flack, Ross and Lindsay following close behind, Gerrard and the Doc too. But as I'm about to run after 'em all, Hammerback seizes a hold of my arm, "Need your help, Mr Messer, can't lift those boxes myself."

Damn dynamite. I'm cursin' whoever invented it. Still, it don't take us long, and we're soon staggering across the street under the weight of two crates of TNT. Probably enough here to blow the whole damn town up.

But there's no sign of a soul as we push the doors to the saloon open; bar's empty, and there ain't a sound.

"Miss Monroe? Sheriff? Miss Stella? Anyone here?"

No answer. Hammerback's lookin' as nervous as I feel. Somethin' don't feel right. The both of us set down the crates onto the table that seems the strongest, and we begin to creep over to the door that leads down to the cellars. Both of us with a gun tight in our fists. No sound, just the saloon doors creakin' on their hinges. Shoulda' brought a drop of oil. _Wrong_ time for that thought. Hell, this ain't good. I beckon Hammerback over, and we set foot on the first step. I lift my foot, and freeze as gunshots sound from below. More gunshots, and a scream. Lindsay. Everyone. _Hell_. We run faster than jack rabbits down those steps into the darkness.

**Sorry! It had been a whole chapter since my last cliff-hanger ; ) Hope you liked this chapter, please review! I've also just put a one-shot, 'Ships', up too. Lily x**


	8. Six Gun Legend

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.**

**Notes**** Thank you very much indeed for all the reviews, I love to receive them. Please continue! Thanks to everyone reading, everyone who has let me know, and everyone who has made this and me a favourite or an alert, much appreciated :D**

**This is Stella's chapter. Enjoy!**

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? 

Chapter 8: Six Gun Legend

Stella:

So there we're all standin', lyin' rather, riddled with bullets and dripping pools of blood all over my nice, clean cellar floor.

Least that's what Mr Daniel Messer was expectin' to see, judging by the look of horror I see on his face as he comes tumbling down them stairs, once I manage to get another candle burning. I've seen less distress on the face of a grizzly at the wrong end of my rifle. Gotta admit though, I was more than surprised not to find myself with a few bullet holes piercing my new silk gown. But I'm more than a little full of admiration for Miss Lindsay Monroe. Never thought the girl had it in her. I give her a nice little colt not two hours ago, and already she's firin' bullets from it. Firin' 'em in all directions. She's got spirit all right. As Mr Messer's obviously noticed. Girl could do worse for a beau, but I'm not gonna let _him_ know I think that in a hurry. Prefer to keep him on his toes, does the man good.

He's on his toes now, that's for sure. Standin' there, white as snow, lookin' as if he's seen our ghosts, and if he doesn't stop gapin', he's in danger of swallowin' us all.

"You… you… you all okay? Linds… Miss Monroe, you all right? Rest of you all okay? Heard shots, a scream, we thought…" He's down those stairs and at her side, and he thinks no one's seen his hand in hers.

"You thought the worst, huh? Thought maybe you'd find us all gonners down here? We're all fine and unharmed. Most of us anyhow. Seems someone's not having the best day of their life, or death though." Ain't _that_ the truth.

Hammerback comes all the way down the stairs and I point him over to the reason for the bullets, "Believe this might be who you were searchin' for Hammerback?"

He leaps across to the body on the floor with glee. Find it kinda' disturbin' sometimes the enjoyment the man takes in his job.

"It certainly is. My missing customer!" Then his face falls. "You _shot_ him? _Again_? But he was already dead! _Very_ dead."

"I believe that was my fault, Mr Hammerback, I'm awful sorry."

Poor Lindsay's lookin' real distressed, I'd best step up and explain, "Fact is, Hammerback, he gave us something of a shock. We got down here, just the one lantern between us, and saw nothin' unusual. Then next thing we know, we hear something of a rustling noise, naturally we all pull out our weapons. Can't see no one though, just shadows and spirits, alcoholic ones that is. We tried calling out. Nothin'. So we crept forward. Seemed someone was lurking behind one of these heaps of barrels. Tried a few warning shots, next thing we know, a barrel's hit, the pile collapses and something, or someone comes falling out from behind. More gunshots ensued. Reason for it all was your missing corpse. Miss Monroe here was brave as anyone, pulling out her weapon and firing alongside the rest of us."

I refrain from mentioning that she ain't the best shot in the West. We're lucky the lantern and the corpse were the only casualties. Still, she's got real potential there, and it's my plan to be giving her a few sharp-shooting lessons soon. Again, something I ain't gonna let Daniel Messer know about just yet. Mac'll approve though, or if he don't, I'll persuade him to.

Time's flying past though, and we're all standin' around, not a whole lot happening. Time for someone to take charge, and I ain't ever shy of volunteering myself for that role.

"Reckon what we need now is a plan of action. First thing we need to do is get this man outta my cellar, then we find whoever put him here, and how. Whoever it was can't have got themselves too far. Who's gonna volunteer for corpse removal duty?"

It's maybe my eyes playing tricks on me in the darkness, but I could swear Don moves back a few steps, and he sure ain't opening his mouth in a hurry. Hawkes and Adam speak up, two fine gentleman, though two that would never brag about themselves as such.

"We'll take him, Stella." Hawkes says. "Might need Hammerback to give us a hand."

Adam's kinda' nodding eagerly alongside him, "We'll sort him out, Miss Stella."

Hammerback's got no hesitations either, "Glad to assist. My thanks are due to all of you for finding him. I suggest we take him back into my parlour, as indeed the spider said to the fly… or was it the garden and Maud? No matter, after you Doctor, Mr Ross. We will return in due course."

Yep, Don's definitely taken a few steps back outta sight. Wonder what's up with him? Even in this light, his face looks worse than a moose that's run out of pondweed, hope he ain't getting sick. A real hearty dose of brimstone and treacle might do him a power of good, always the thing for appetite disorders. Maybe I'll fetch some out for him later.

"So, we got the corpse sorted, what's next on our list?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten about the treasure, Stella?"

Trust Mac Taylor to catch me on that, I can see the sparkle in his eyes from here, and it ain't just the candle light. Damn, the way that man looks sometimes… but it ain't just the looks, it's the man himself. I know, even if _he_ don't know that I know, that he's outside the saloon most nights, even when he ain't in there officially. I don't need Don to tell me that. And I ain't deaf to what folks say. I don't need him to be doing that, but I gotta admit, it's a nice feelin' to know someone's looking out for me. First person who ever did. Wouldn't have it any other way though, I've made my own way in the world, haven't needed anyone's hand to keep a hold of mine. Any mistakes have been my own. There've been a few, but I've sent them into the sunset, and survived. Not an easy life for a woman out here, especially doing what I do, but when I need to be I can be deaf to what _some_ folks say. Ones that don't matter. I know what's right and wrong.

"I ain't forgotten Mac, just gettin' everything sorted out good and proper first. Suggest we start digging in a few separate places, given as we don't have an _exact_ spot."

"We got a pretty fair idea though, Miss Stella, thanks to L… Miss Monroe here." Mighta' known Daniel Messer would be sticking up for her, gotta admire that in him though.

"We do, that's true enough, but it's still gonna take a fair bit of diggin' to find it, got a lot of cellar to cover. Got plenty of digging implements though."

Messer gives me a grin that I could fairly describe as mischievous, "You'll also be wantin' some o' that dynamite that Hammerback and I brought over?"

Hell. I do, I _really_ do, but common sense takes over much to my disappointment, and annoyance, "You know, I hate to say it, but I reckon we've not got enough space down here, don't want to blow up the bar or anythin'…"

Then one of the most surprising things that's ever happened to me happens. Mac Taylor persuades _me_ to be using dynamite in a less than cautious way, "I been doing a bit of scientific thinking, Stella, and I'd judge we got about enough space to do it safely, plant a coupla' sticks, stand well back, and we'll get away with it. What do you say? It's your cellar."

What do I say? He's rendered me near enough speechless, and ain't that something. Everyone's kinda looking at me, so guess I'd better come up with something sharp and clever to say.

"Uh, sure, why not? If you think so, uh, real good idea. Just try not to do too much damage." Sharp and clever, huh? This is all Mac's fault. Suddenly the tables are turned. Better turn 'em back real quick, "Bring it on down, Messer, whatever you got, and let's find this treasure." Suddenly, I want to find this, more than anything almost. After all, it belongs to the town, guess we owe it to ourselves to get it back. And I feel like we owe it to Mac too. I know he ain't never forgiven himself for that gang of no good low lives gettin' away from him and Don. That sonofabitch Gerrard too, wouldn't I just like to wipe that smile off of _his _face. Reckon he likes seeing Mac's conscience suffering. He'll get what's due to him. I'm willin' to wait a little while, but I'll do it, sure as hell.

Messer's raced back up those stairs faster than a gazelle, and he's soon back down carrying more than two sticks of dynamite.

"Brought a couple spare, just in case, ya know. We ready to go?"

Hell, yes. He, Mac and Don scrape away a good sized hole in the ground, I offer advice. Good thing I've never gotten around to having it other than a dirt floor. We toss the sticks in, cover them back over, then haul out the fuse and get ready to find our positions.

I'm noticin' at this point that someone is moving on up those stairs, "Some place you gotta be, Don?"

Messer turns round at that, "Ya scared, Flack? Don't tell me a coupla' sticks o' dynamite got the deputy of Hattanville quaking in his boots."

The look Don gives him oughta' have stretched him out stone dead, "You all want to blow yourselves up, that's fine by me, go right ahead, but I ain't gonna be the one picking up your pieces. 'Sides, I got a deputy's duty to be thinkin' of, we still have some investigatin' to be done down at Novak's drugstore. I'm gonna head on over there, pickin' up Ross on my way. Same time as I do that, I can send the Doc on down to be useful here."

"Sure you don't wanna stay for the fireworks?"

He gives Mac a killer of a look as well, sweeping it past me first, "Nope. Gotta say it, Mac, I'm surprised at _you_. Other people, no, but you of all people." Can't think who he might mean by that.

Mac shrugs, "Sorry, Don. Had no choice in the matter." Did Mac just _wink_ at me? Coulda' sworn he did. Turning out to be a surprising day, in more ways than one.

"Just be careful then, I ain't ready to be Sheriff _yet_."

Don leaves, shaking his head and we get ourselves ready. For an instant, a moment of doubt creeps its way into my mind, is this really _sane_? Well, hey, it's too late now. Messer's already handing the fuse to me, and I've lit the end. Strikes me in that instant that we're short of another face too. Not a pretty one either. The fuse is hissing away merrily. I can see all of our faces in the glow.

"Anyone see where Gerrard's gone? Crept away without even sayin' goodbye has he?" No sign of him, no one seems too bothered, and that's fine and dandy by me.

Only a meter or so of fuse left. Damn, this is going to be a _big_ bang. Hope we haven't misjudged the amount. Could prove interestin'. Give the folks of the town plenty to talk about in years to come if the Sheriff and several of his population disappear in a cloud of smoke.

Few more centimetres. Messer's got his arm around Lindsay, and looks like he couldn't care less who sees it. Someone's got their hand on my arm. Only one person it could be. Real glad about that, truth be told, if these are gonna be our last few moments, I could think of plenty worse people to have close to me.

End of the fuse. Now my hand's being held tightly. A second when the spark seems to kind of wobble on the edge and then there's a near blindin' flash, everythin' goes white, then yellow, then black. Feels like someone's kinda punched me in the stomach. Can hear myself saying words that Mac's tried to convince himself in the past I don't know. I'm a lady when I need to be, but it don't mean I can't cuss like a cowboy when I need to either…Can't hear any screams, gotta be a good thing. And I seem to be in one piece, just hope everyone else is…

"Mac? Lindsay? Messer? Everyone still good and alive?" I get up from the floor, yep, I'm still intact, not too much damage. This dress ain't never gonna be the same again though.

"We're okay, Linds… Miss Monroe and I are still here. You okay, Miss Stella? Sheriff?"

There's a strange sort of groan from beside me, "Mac? Mac, you okay? Messer, grab a hold of that candle and light it up. Mac, are you hurt? Talk to me."

More groans, and then finally my heart starts beating again when he speaks, "I think… I'm okay, Stella. Still breathin'. Something … seems to have landed on top of me though, somethin' kinda heavy…"

"Little help, Messer, get yourself over here with that candle."

He's over in a second, I seem to have that effect on him, and finally we can see what's weighing Mac down.

"Well, well Sheriff, looks like you caught yourself a box of treasure!"

Sitting on top of his chest is nothin' less than an iron bound casket, and if it don't contain the missing treasure, my name ain't Stella Bonasera.

Messer and I lift it off of him, and I give him a hand up, dust him down, whilst Lindsay and Messer start trying to pry it open.

"Might need another stick o' dynamite for this, Miss Stella, Sheriff…" He begins hopefully. Nice try. No chance, I've had my fill of dynamite. For today anyway.

"Count yourselves lucky, Mr Messer, that you ain't picking up sticks of dynamite up in heaven right now. That was pretty damn close. I for one, ain't gonna be using any more today. Besides, we've run out of fuse. Old fashioned methods might be called for here." It almost pains me to disappoint him. Almost. "Let's take it outta here."

Mac's recovered his breath by now, "We'll take it over to my office, open it up safely there, I got tools we can use." Now that causes _me_ to be raising my eyebrows. What kind of tools has Taylor got that I haven't?

"What?" He protests, "You work as Sheriff for a long time, you get to be confiscatin' a few tools of the robbery trade. Don and I keep them out of interest, and security."

Uh huh. Sure he does. That knowledge is sure being kept for future use. Still, he's got a point, and there's something about being down in these cellars makes me kinda uneasy. Just a feelin' I got, but it's one I don't like. We carry on up the box between us, seems mighty heavy, hopin' it's full of what we want it to be. At the top of the stairs, I don't think I've ever been so glad to see daylight in my saloon. Late afternoon, and the sun's streamin' in through the windows. Messer seems to be strugglin' a bit, looks like he's got a bit of damage to his arm, hadn't mentioned it though.

"Put it down for a moment everyone, we'll take a breather, could sure do with it myself, this is real heavy."

We rest it up on the bar, and lean on it for a second, none of us saying a word. Then a voice we recognise, one I've grown to hate, speaks out of the gloom at the far end of the room where the sun don't reach, "So, you went ahead and found it. Big mistake, all of you, but one you're not gonna be regretting for very long."

As we turn around, there's a click, and we find ourselves facing Stan Gerrard and the mean end of his gun. And he ain't alone.

**Well, I resolved the last cliff-hanger, so had to have another one in here XD the next chapter I plan to be the last one I'm afraid, but I may do a sequel? Let me know what you think, please review! Thank you, Lily x**


	9. Ride Your Troubles Out Of Town

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. But I wish I did.**

**Notes**** Thank you VERY MUCH for all the reviews I've had, they've meant a lot. Thank you for suggestions, including: ImasupernaturalCSI, Blue Shadowdancer, Sally Jetson, Marialisa, Shining Zephyr, Moska (guns and horses!) Laplandgurl, foxdvd, notesofwimsey, greyslostwho and chrysalis escapist (sorry if I've missed anyone) And THANK YOU to everyone who's reviewed.**

**If you've been reading through and haven't reviewed yet, please tell me what you've thought with this last chapter. **

**Final chapter, Mac's turn again - he is Sheriff after all ; )**

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? 

Chapter 9: Ride Your Troubles Out Of Town

Mac:

Shoulda' guessed. Moment he slipped out o' that cellar, I shoulda' guessed he was heading off to do no good deeds. But I didn't, and it's led to our current predicament. Trouble is, it shouldn't be _their_ predicament, should be mine alone. My battle not theirs, even though I know that, good people they are, they're gonna want to be fightin', especially Daniel Messer, and Stella.

If anyone gets hurt, if that man hurts a hair on any of their heads, then there won't be a hole he can slither into that'll conceal him from me. On my head though it'll be if anyone gets hurt. Can't let that happen…

"Well, Stan, quite a turn up for the books. Who'd've thought _you'd_ be involved in this?" Reckon he gets the point I'm making. Never been subtle with sarcasm. Gerrard laughs. Throws his head right back, and laughs in our faces. I'm keenly aware of Stella at my side near enough quivering with rage, and Messer behind me making the floor shake with his anger. Miss Monroe's none too happy either. Stella reaches carefully for a pistol. Unfortunately, Gerrards' eyes are too damn sharp, and in an instant there's the muzzle of a wicked looking revolver pointing right at her head.

"One more move from you, _Missy_, and it'll be the last you ever make. And I'm sure Taylor here ain't gonna want to see anything happen to that pretty neck o' yours. Guess too the boys and I'd like to have some more fun yet with you and the other little lady."

The words kinda' drip like poison from off of his lips, he licks them slowly and I can feel the heat in the air from the five other men surrounding us. They're all too close, can smell the sweat and wrongness of 'em. Somethin' that lingers on men who've done real wrong; a reek of evil.

Stella ain't takin' this silently, "Yeah? Try _anything _of the sort and you'll be payin' for it for the rest of your miserable and short life, Gerrard." She spits back. Messer I can hear almost choking behind me, Miss Monroe's given a low hiss of anger. Just hope Stella ain't misjudged her words.

Gerrard grins like the devil he is, and the muzzle slides down her neck and lower, "Oh, I intend to try." Before he can say or do anymore, and before I lose control of myself and the situation, I get a few more words out.

"That's enough, Stan. I'm gonna warn you now, touch anyone here and it's me you're answerin' to. Me and the whole of this town. You'll have justice served on you. Don't know what you think you're doing, maybe you don't yourself, but I'm willin', for now, to take a leap of faith and offer you an honourable way out. Man to man. Think about this. Give yourselves up now, all of you, and you can still keep a modicum of honour. Whatever's in this chest surely ain't worth a man's honour."

I ignore the snorts of disgust at the mention of Gerrard's honour. Gerrard don't though.

"Something any of you wanna say? Huh?" His fingers have begun to curl around the trigger.

"I'm waitin' for your answer, Stan." I get in before either of my more impetuous companions can say anythin' else. Even though my thoughts are no less than theirs.

"You don't know the half of it, Taylor." Gerrard snarls, "You never do, that's your trouble. Here in this miserable excuse for a town, you don't see the bigger picture, see what's beyond your borders. Now I _do_, and I see that there's a chance for me to be movin' on to bigger things. Workin' my way outta this state and into the big cities…"

"Way I see it, Stan, the only thing _you're_ headin' for is a big mess, which I'm offerin' you the chance out of. You'll never get away with what you're planning, so why not take me up on my offer. What d'you say?"

"Ha! You ain't in any kind of position to be offerin' _me_ chances, Taylor. Way I'm seeing things here is, I got the upper hand. Six against four, them's odds to my liking. Now enough talkin', hand over that there box, and maybe I'll kill you quick, instead of the slow and painful death I had planned."

We're surrounded now by the smiles of his ruthless outlaws, all of 'em rough with the dirt of the plains, and starin' with the cruel and empty eyes of men who've lived their lives on the outside o' human nature. There ain't a sound 'cept the harsh breathing of 'em, and I can hear in that sound the longing for our deaths, and worse.

Six guns on all of us, and we're kinda' bunched together around the box. Only plan I can think of is buying time and getting some truths outta Gerrard. Same time, maybe give us the chance to reach surreptitious-like for our weapons. Happen to know that Messer and Stella will have at least two apiece on them. If not more, in Stella's case. Where she keeps them all is something I've tried to stop my mind wandering to many a time.

Gerrard flips his next words at me, and there's a gun pressed into my forehead held by one of his outlaws, "Stand aside, Taylor. Any false moves and we'll blow you all to pieces. Startin' with Miss Bonasera here, never known such an _irritatin'_ woman…"

Stella's words kinda' crack the air with her fury, "Irritatin' don't even _begin_ to describe _you_, you low life, snivelling' sonofabitch."

"_Why you_…" Gerrard raises his gun, to strike or shoot her, I don't hesitate to find out.

"Stan! Think about this. Now, as you'll appreciate, Stella's sometimes prone to sayin' things she don't mean." Out of the corner of my eye, I see her open her mouth about to breathe fire it seems, then she catches my look and understanding passes between us. Hopefully she picks up the mental apology I'm also makin' to her. Otherwise I'm gonna be payin' for this later. "Got somethin' of a fiery temper, as you know from past encounters. But I know she'll have no more to say on the matter till you've said your piece. Ain't that right, _Stella?_"

Look she gives me, I'm lucky not to be a dead man, and she fair suffocates with the effort of nodding at me. I may well be a dead man later. If we all got a later. Strikes me at that moment that it ain't gonna be long before Don, Ross and Hawkes are headin' back over here, Hammerback too. Realise now just why Don headed outta that cellar so fast, reckon he had an inkling of what Gerrard was up to. Good man. Deputy to be proud of, even with his overlikin' for victuals at times, Mrs Hammerback's cake in particular, which does his stomach no good. But he and the others are gonna find themselves runnin' into a whole heap o' trouble. I gotta keep Gerrard talking, and find the truth.

"Tell us what happened, Stan. Where'd it all start, huh? Guessing this all connects back to the robbery in town few years back?"

"You got that right at least, Taylor. Yeah, that's where it started." He's lowered his gun a fraction. The other men haven't flickered. "I weren't part of the original plan, mind. Came across the gang involved afterwards, ran into them as they was fleein' cross the plains, I was on my way here. Got them to agree a bargain; freedom and escape for a cut of the bounty."

"Who were they?" Reckon I can figure this out, given the knives we found on 'em all, but it's good to hear confirmation.

"Bunch of poor sailors takin' a chance. None left now, my associate here saw to the last two, other one had died naturally, but we managed to get his knife off of him." He jerks his head towards the man closest to me, who leers in an ugly fashion. "Jack's the man you been chasing your tails for. Got him to round up the final two, starting with your missing body, name of John Hawkins. Caught up with him myself not a few weeks ago, tried to get him to reveal the stash, bought him new boots as a bribe, but he'd have none of it, said he was off to dig it up himself so Jack and I being thick together, planned his demise." Gerrard laughs in a way that ain't entirely human, "Jack made real sure he was dead too, ha! Billy Downs was your second corpse, also been threatenin' to dig up the stash, Jack again proved useful, as did another small amount of poison from your drugstore. Really should get better security in there, Mac, or maybe the town needs a better Sheriff, huh?"

"So that's the why of all these visits to town." I'm having to keep a hold of Stella's fist, stop it slamming into Gerrard's face. Moment ain't right, yet.

"Thought I enjoyed your company?" The object of our hatred sneers, "Been trying to figure out exactly where the haul was buried. But dear Miss Monroe here figured it out real easy for me…"

"You're not gonna get anythin' _else_ from me, you coward!" Miss Monroe retorts, I can see Messer's eyes fair bulging. Then I see somethin' else outta the corner of my eye that gives me cause for hope, and concern. Don, Hawkes, Ross and Hammerback are creepin' past the windows. Unseen, so far.

"Now what, you gonna add more blood to your conscience?" Don't reckon he's ever had one.

"Reckon I will, Taylor." His grin widens, and his weapon presses closer into Stella's skin.

"Now!" I yell, and it seems like all hell breaks loose in the saloon. Stella kicks upwards, and Gerrard crumples right over, not before her fist lands in his face. Same moment, Don and the others burst through the doors, firing on our enemies. The man whose gun had been moments before caressing my forehead, topples with a look of shock as one of Don's bullets finishes him.

Messer breaks loose from the man marking him, and places a bullet neatly between his eyes. Miss Monroe's not scared of taking part either; bullets go flying, and she succeeds in felling the man about to leap on top of Ross.

"Keep 'em coming Miss Monroe!" He shouts, all flushed with the excitement, and she's not far behind him.

"You got it, Mr Ross!"

Don's got lead pouring outta his weapon, and another outlaw goes down under his fire, despatched to the place that ain't heaven, but the one left rolls behind a chair, and starts shooting from behind there.

Bullets flying, and we're all tryin' to find shelter. Stella's busy fightin' with Gerrard who seems to be trying to get his hands round her throat. Problem is, I can't get a clear shot at him. Messer's pulled Miss Monroe over to the side of the bar, and both of 'em, with Hammerback, are taking shots at the outlaw sniping at us. Hawkes, Ross and Don are the other side of the bar trying to get round to take him down from behind, and I'm still tryin' to get a fix on Gerrard. But I can't risk hitting Stella. She'd never forgive me if I shot her.

Suddenly, she manages to grab a hold of him, but then he flings her away from him. She lands heavily, and seems stunned for a moment. My finger's already on the trigger, a clear shot to his head, but he rolls across the floor out of range. Before I've even thought about it, I'm diving under the bullets to reach Stella, make sure she's all right, but I don't even reach her. All I hear is my name yelled out, and a shot ringing past my ears, then a thud. Another thud. Then it all falls silent. Stella's got a pistol in her hand, a faint wisp of smoke curling from it, and to my right lies Gerrard's body, gun in his hand, unfired, pointing at me.

"You saved…"

"Your life? Yeah, I did, don't make me have to do that again, Taylor. What the _hell_ were you thinking?" Never been more pleased to see her so angry. I'm over beside her.

"Stella, I'm sorry, I didn't…

"Think. Kinda guessed that, Mac." She shakes her head, and this time I give her a hand up.

The other outlaw's shot down stone dead too, turns out by Hammerback's hand. He ain't lookin' too happy about that.

"This does not look good for my reputation, Taylor, not good at all. I'd like your assurance that this will not lead to rumours I've been unfairly trying to bring in business. I cannot afford even a whiff of scandal."

"Hammerback, you're the only undertaker in town. Not likely _you're_ gonna be gettin' business _nefariously_ is it?" Messer slaps him in the back with a snigger. Hammerback nefarious? Doesn't bear thinkin' about. "'Sides, now you got a whole lot more customers, includin' the one you were missin'. Ain't gonna be _me_ accusin' _you_ of anythin' other than bravery. Reckon the town'll be more than grateful, 'specially as we got back _everything_ that was lost. You agree with me, Lindsay?" Wondered how long that was gonna take him.

Miss Monroe hardly blushes as she answers, "I sure do, Danny."

Even Hammerback seems reassured. We're standin' there now, breathin' hard, and just takin' a moment to be thankful we're all still alive. Words I'm thinkin' of just don't seem adequate, but I gotta say _somethin'_ at this point.

"Bravery's been the order of the day here, and I include all of you in that. Can't say much more than thank you, and I know that the whole of Hattanville's gonna be wantin' to say the same."

I find Stella's hand in mine, "Town owes its thanks to you as well, Mac. Never forget that." Everyone's nodding, and for a moment my eyes feel like they're kinda' stinging. Musta' got a speck of gunpowder in 'em.

There's no more left to say at that point. Afternoon's crept into early evening, and we got a lot to do, not least a clean up and some returning of property to all the folks in town. The day ends up with the biggest celebration Hattanville's ever seen, even bigger than the day the railroad reached us. Seems like everyone's made their way over to the saloon and is singing, laughing, dancing, or just enjoying each other's company: Messer and Miss Monroe I can see happily engaged with each other in a dimly lit corner; Hawkes is sitting with Hammerback and his wife sharing stories; Ross is sitting next to Miss Novak and she's smiling at his animated talk; Don's finally got a plate of food in front of him, biggest plate I've ever seen, and seems to be enjoying conversation with a dark-haired lady with a heaven-sent name. Seems like a good time for me to slip out and leave them all to their enjoyment. Stella, I can see safely in her usual place, orderin' a couple of willing volunteers to help with the servin' of drinks. Don't think she sees me as I move quietly out the doors and across the street.

But I might've got that wrong. I've only just climbed up into the saddle when a voice calls out to me.

"Hey, Mac. Where you headin' after such a day as this?"

Stella's standin' there with that glint in her eyes. Standin' and waitin', twirlin' a pistol round her finger in a nonchalant manner.

"Sure hope you got the safety on that." I say, not knowin' what else to at that moment. There's much unspoken.

She shrugs, "Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. But you ain't answered my question. Don't keep a lady waitin', Sheriff."

"Wouldn't dream of it, especially not such a lady as yourself." That makes her smile, and the pistol stops spinning as I tell her, "I'm headin' for the hills, just an evenin' ride, whilst all's well in town."

She nods, and slips the pistol back into the folds of her dress, scuffs her boot in the dust and then looks up at me, "Care for some company, or is it a lonely ride?"

For a moment, there's no sound apart from a soft snuffle from my blue roan, impatient to be off and galloping. I hesitate, but the sun sinking over the hills shines radiant on her face, and all I can think then is what a damn fine woman she is. And how much her company means to me.

She's still waitin' for me to answer though, and I know she won't wait for ever. I hold my hand out to her, "Care to join me? Can't promise it'll be smooth ground the whole way."

Light blazes in the depths of her eyes, "Nothin' I'd like more, Mac, thought you'd never be askin'."

Stella seizes my hand, and with a graceful leap, she's sittin' up side-saddle in front of me. Suddenly her hands are wound around my own, and around the reins, "Where _we_ headin' then?"

"Wherever we want, Stella." I smile and it feels good to smile. Maybe I don't do it often enough. Maybe I should, and maybe now I can.

She turns to face me, the sky behind her in a rapture of red, orange and gold sunset, and for a moment there is the promise of her lips against mine.

"Reckon we follow our hearts, Mac. See where the road takes us, rough or smooth, see where we end up." She grins and tugs the reins, "Best hold on tight!"

I'm keepin' tight hold of her as we break straight into a gallop. Can't stop the smile on my face. Looks like it ain't gonna be a lonely ride after all, and that suits me just fine.

THE END

**Longest chapter ever! It's ended, but with a ride into the sunset, it had to be XD Thank you for reading, please review and tell me what you think, and I'll try to do a sequel :D Thank you, Lily x**


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